You're always somebody's kid...

I just turned nineteen, and I believe I am an adult. My friends and I, a guy and a girl, are walking through a complex of townhouses in winter. It is windy after a snow fall, and dunes are starting to take shape. It is late into the night and the party goers are still going strong. Feeling excellent after a nite of partying we passed a man shovelling snow in the middle of the night, and thus offered to help. We started shovelling with him and once we were finished the man invited us inside. He offered us drinks and the next thing I know is that I'm witnessing my friends getting tortured with blades and pressure to the forearms. I ran as fast as I could out of the house, through the maze of random houses (while in my head I have a clear map of where I am, and my destination), and make a sharp right and see the familiar sight of my Christmas tree in front of my house. I don't know how my house got here, but the floor plan is the same as the apartment we used to live at in Mississauga. I ripped the door open and ran to my parents room. My father was on the bed talking on the phone. I fell to my knees next to the bed, and just gripped him as tight as I could, and started heaving and couldn't open my eyes, could not breathe, could not stop tightening up. I heard my dad stop his converstaion, quickly excuse the person on the line, and hang up the phone. I looked up and was scared stiff, all I knew was that it was now over. I woke up heaving and clenchin my covers. I was exhausted from fear yet I could not sleep.